Lips of an angel
by Falling-Petal84
Summary: John Watson learns the hard way that fate is a fickle thing. Warnings inside!


_Good afternoon everyone (in my part of the world anyway)!_

_Before you start reading just a couple of things I need/want you to know. I got the idea for this story a couple of days ago when I was driving to my friend and listened to this beautiful song 'Lips of an angel' by Hinder. If you haven't heard it maybe you want to check it out at some point and I think it compliments the overall mood of the story.  
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_Anyway I got that idea and it didn't leave me alone and I thought I better use my last days of Pentecoste break to write it before school starts again. And now that I finished it, I feel the need to write up a warning.  
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_**Warnings: This story is set post-Reichenbach and it contains some kind of reunion alright. But I categorized it Hurt/Comfort and drama for a good reason. It also contains a MINOR CHARACTER DEATH! Just so you know, I warned you. It also has a kind of happy ending, I guess.**  
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_****For everyone who I haven't scared away until now. I hope you enjoy the story.  
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_- **Petal**_

* * *

Lips of an angel

It had been three long years for John Watson. The first had been the most difficult naturally. Witnessing how his best friend ended his life had pulled away the ground under his feet. The days after Sherlock Holmes' death were a blurry nightmare to John mainly because he had been under the constant influence of pretty strong tranquillizers. Preparing the funeral, making last decisions for Sherlock's final journey, talking to friends, it all was a vague memory.

Mycroft had been the one who included John in everything after he had realized that John had been the better family than he had been to Sherlock. It also was Mycroft who took care that John was under constant surveillance in the most unobtrusive way possible. Mrs Hudson took a big part in that and even Harry had managed to keep her hands away from the bottle long enough to look after her brother. The reason was easy, nobody wanted to risk another funeral in such short succession. Rightfully so since the thought did cross John's drug muddled mind not just once, wishing to finally go through with the plans he already had when he first returned from Afghanistan before Sherlock had turned his life upside down and he cursed Mycroft to hell and back regularly for taking away his gun.

But as time went by John had started to cope with the situation. Leaving Baker Street had been a painful but necessary step in this process. The good doctor was aware that Mycroft still had a close eye on him but the fear of his possible suicide had died down a little. John had decided for himself that whatever Sherlock's reason had been, he had cared for John and wanted him to live his life and that's what John had planned on doing if only for the purpose to convince the public that Sherlock never was a fake. This strong believe was his motivation in the first months.

Slowly he started a new life again, finally able to work decent hours at the surgery and the odd job at crime scenes. Gregory Lestrade knew that John wasn't Sherlock Holmes but he still appreciated his opinion when his team was positively out of their depth and more often than not it showed that John always has had a mind closer to Sherlock Holmes' than anyone at the Yard and who was able to observe details others failed to see.

The calm regular life came with a downside of course, it had been barely three months after Sherlock's death when the constant strain on John's nerves lessened and his limp gradually got more pronounced again. John secretly had been glad that he never got rid of his cane which became his constant companion once again.

One and a half year after that fateful day John Watson met a woman by the name of Mary Morstan. With her light brown hair, her gentle smile and her bright personality and humour she found her way into John's heart to soothe the ache Sherlock had left behind if only a little.

A chance meeting at a coffee shop became a date and then a second one and many more followed. John was content with this relationship; Mary made him happy and gave him another reason to live. She also understood and accepted that Sherlock had been pretty much John's other half and that although John loved her she could never replace him. It worked fine and after a year they moved in together.

Another six months later John Watson's world got turned upside down again when a certain consulting detective returned from the dead. Mary had been out of town at that time –not entirely a coincidence, really, Sherlock had chosen his timing well- when he'd appeared at John's door.

The reunion fulfilled all of John's wishes and yet it had been nothing like he had imagined at all. He had planned on punching Sherlock, letting him feel at least a fraction of the pain he'd endured all those year and then hugging him close and never letting him go again. In reality he just stared. He'd pulled Sherlock inside, made tea and spent over an hour just looking at Sherlock in silent awe, taking in every detail, every little change. Not until this need had been satisfied, he allowed Sherlock to talk, to explain to him what he'd longed to understand ever since.

After that it was glorious. Sherlock was back and quickly he managed to cure John's limp for a second time. They worked together like nothing had happened, like those three years were only a bad dream. But obviously this regained companionship clashed with John's new life. Sarah hadn't been surprised at all and she took it in stride when John started running off to some crime scene again in the middle of his shift because Sherlock had called him. Since the day she found out about Sherlock's miraculous resurrection, she had been expecting nothing else.

Mary had been fine in the beginning too. She had thought that John needed to catch up with Sherlock and thus she had been generous and wasn't offended when John started to return home in the middle of the night on a regular basis. After she had met Sherlock, she actually liked him in the beginning but slowly she grew wary of him and his relationship with John.

The good doctor still told her that he loved her regularly but it was the little things that woke a sense of uncertainty in her heart.

* * *

These are the circumstances at which we meet John Watson now.

"Did you get the milk?" Mary asked when John returned home one night, eyes shining with proud excitement and his clothes covered in dust.

"Err… no, was I supposed to?" he looked at her and a vague sense of déjà-vu gripped him; he grinned.

"Yes John, I told you this morning that the bottle is almost empty and I even texted you again in the afternoon to remind you."

Frowning, John took out his mobile phone and checked his incoming messages.

"Oh… I'm sorry Mary, it was a pretty busy afternoon, seems like I totally overlooked your text. I'll go and buy fresh milk first thing in the morning, alright? Promise!" he took a step closer with –what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and leaned in to kiss her but she dodged him.

"No it's not alright, John. Absolutely not. It was a busy afternoon, yeah? Texting back and forth with Sherlock again and then running off after another criminal from the looks of it! I bet you never overlook a text from him!" She glared at him.

"We didn't text back and forth, Mary. There was a case, we had work to do, you know that!"

"Oh come on, it's not even your real job, John. You are a bloody doctor not some criminal catching superhero. If anything you're just a loyal pet dog who walks everywhere Sherlock directs him." She yelled at him.

The good doctor kept silent for a long moment, only looking at her, wondering if she really just said what he had heard.

Finally he huffed and turned on his heels to get rid of his dirty clothes.

The woman must have sensed the hurt her statement had caused and she followed him quickly.

"John, wait. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean that."

"Don't Mary. You know it's not the first time I'm called Sherlock's pet dog and although it's probably the farthest things from the truth, it's not what makes me angry. I just never thought that you of all people would call me that. I trusted you, I told you all those things, I really thought that you could understand me."

Before she had a chance to say something, John closed the bathroom door. He was so terribly disappointed and he needed a moment of his own.

When he came back into the living room, they looked at each other.

"I'm sorry…" they started at the same time and stopped abruptly.

"Go on…" John urged.

"I'm sorry John, I really am. What I said before, that was uncalled for. I do understand. You never hid that side of you before, I knew what Sherlock had meant to you even before I realized what you mean to me but that was then, John. I accepted that there is a part of your heart that's untouchable to me and it was fine because you need to keep the memory of loved ones close to your heart. It was alright because he was gone and I never had a reason to compete with him but now I feel like I constantly have to compete with Sherlock to get at least a bit of your attention only that I already know that I'm on the losing end because no one can compete with Sherlock Holmes. Not when it comes to your attention."

A heavy silence surrounded the couple while John thought about Mary's words.

"I never thought about it this way, Mary. I'm really sorry. I do love you, believe me when I tell you that. Back then, there was a time when I was in love with Sherlock Holmes, I won't deny it. But then that's hardly news to you, I told you this before. But now I love you and Sherlock… he's still my best friend, the closest thing to family I ever had considering my relationship with Harry and my parents. And I missed him dearly for the past three years that I guess I lost a bit of my focus when he returned.

What I mean to say is, whatever we do, you don't need to compete with Sherlock. You both are the most important people in my life and I love you both, each in a special way."

John really hoped that Mary would understand what he was trying to say but the woman looked at him with sad eyes.

"I know…" was all she said before she left the living room and went to bed, leaving a confused John Watson behind.

SH JW

It was that moment when a text message from Sherlock arrived.

_Did you return home alright? –SH_

John sighed, looked at the words for a long moment before replying.

_Fine. Just fine. –JW_

It was barely 30 seconds after John had hit 'send' when Sherlock called him.

"John? Are you alright?" were the first words uttered.

"Fine. What happened to 'I prefer to text'?" John asked.

"I do but sometimes it's better to hear a voice. But that's not the important thing here. What's the matter John?"

With a deep sigh, John rubbed his hand over his face.

"Nothing… it's just… I had a fight with Mary when I came back and after I calmed down a bit we just had a pretty emotional conversation, that's all. Me being emotional." John added with an unhappy chuckle.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. What was it about?" Sherlock asked, honest concern in his voice.

"I forgot to buy milk. Apparently she texted me but I overlooked that with the case and all."

At that Sherlock started laughing.

"One should think you of all people would understand that one. I remember not just one instance when you got angry at me for the very same thing. But that wasn't what I meant, I was talking about your conversation."

The low rumble of Sherlock's laughter sent a tingling sensation along John's spine and he couldn't help but join in. Talking to Sherlock made everything seem so much easier.

"Yeah I know, I experienced some kind of déjà-vu when she snapped at me for that. And the weird thing is although I was sorry that I forgot, I somehow felt the need to apologize to you too. Now I understand that it was hardly fair to get angry at you most of the time. Working on a case obviously does that to people."

Another chuckle made John smile.

"No need for that, my friend. I never took that personally. Now do you want to talk about it? You know I'll always listen."

John laughed silently at these words because they both knew that they were only partly true, Sherlock more often than not tuned out everyone else and just didn't listen.

"I don't know Sherlock, I don't think that there is much to talk about. We needed to talk about some changes in out situation now or better about some things that just didn't change."

For all the cold-heartedness everyone, even John at some point, had accused Sherlock, he certainly understood feelings and emotions, he just chose to ignore them when they got in his way. But this time it was different.

"She doesn't like my presence."

"No, Sherlock, no. That's not it." John quickly said.

"Then she feels threatened by me." It was a statement but uttered with a degree of uncertainty that implied a question.

John sighed.

"I don't know, it seems like it. She knows, Sherlock. I never lied about the past and about what you mean to me. And now she's worried that I'll forget about her." He heard the slightly unsteady intake of breath at the other end of the line.

"John…" was all Sherlock said.

"I know…" John replied and with all the emotional turmoil going on inside his head, the doctor realized that he really did. There was no need for many words, they both just knew.

* * *

But fate, John Watson would think later, has always been a fickle thing.

It was almost two months later and Mary and he had found a way to live with each other without the bitterness. She'd tried to be even more understanding of John and he had made a conscious effort to pay her the attention she deserved. It had worked out fine. After the first discussion, a couple more followed but they were a lot less difficult to endure since his talk with Sherlock.

They were happy but just the way it is with happiness, for some reason it always has a due date.

It started one night when John returned home quite late. Sherlock and he were working on a triple murder for Lestrade that proved really tricky. He had spent the night before at Baker Street but had to return home for a change of clothes after all.

Although she knew about the case, Mary hadn't been pleased with him.

They argued for a while about house chores, jobs and anniversaries until John –who was terribly tired- put his foot down and just stopped. They agreed to meet the next afternoon at the café they first met at and talk about all this in peace after calming down a bit. They had learned before that this was the best way to settle such matters.

It had been what people usually referred to as a freak accident.

John went back to Baker Street in the morning and during the day the puzzle pieces fell in place and they were able to name their murderer.

In the bright daylight Sherlock and John went on a chase, separating somewhere on the way to corner the culprit.

John's path led him close to his meeting point with Mary. He didn't actually realize that until she called his name behind him.

He would have ignored anybody else, in fact it would have been better to ignore her as well. They were chasing a killer, Sherlock probably had caught up with him already and was fighting him alone now but Mary's voice stopped every thought in his brain and he came to a sudden stand still, turning his head in her direction.

That had been the plan anyway. Before he was able to look at her he felt a hard push, that sent him to the ground and a sudden painful wall of sound, screeching breaks and screams assaulted his ears.

John Watson had experienced more than enough similar situations throughout his life to know that something terribly bad had happened even before he had seen it.

When he came back to his senses, the first thing he realized was that he was sitting in the middle of a street, crashed and smoking cars around them. And when he turned around, John wished his heart would stop.

Like a cruel flashback, he looked at another loved one soaked in blood on the street.

"Mary… Mary, no!" quickly he was by her side, suddenly shaking.

The woman he'd loved for over a year looked at him with sad and shiny eyes.

"John… I'm sorry…" she whispered.

"No, don't say that, it'll be fine, everything will be fine."

The doctor tried to find a way to help her but although she was bleeding from various injuries he soon had to accept that the worst of it obviously were internal injuries he had absolutely no way to stop.

She gasped in pain but a small smile flickered around her lips.

"I know… it'll be fine… you'll be fine. You have to promise me."

"I promise, Mary, it will be fine!"

"Good… that's good… John, I know now… it took me too long but now I understand…" she whispered, voice barely more than a breath. "You loved me… you loved me in your very own special way… just like him…"

John's eyes went wide and filled with tears at her words. He cradled her head in his lap and held her hand tightly.

"I love you, Mary! I'll always will!" he whispered back and made her somehow smile through the pain again.

"I know… because you did it before… stay with him… stay with Sherlock because… because you never stopped loving him… promise me… that you won't forget… me…"

John could barely hear her anymore but what she was saying was clear anyway. Tears streaked his face, forgotten was the strong soldier.

"Never, Mary, I promise!" he whispered.

She probably hadn't heard his words anymore but it didn't matter, it didn't make them less true.

And just like that the silence that had surrounded them in those moments vanished and made way to the noisy hustle around them.

One of the paramedics who arrived on scene moments before gently pulled him away from Mary. They couldn't do anything for her but they still tried.

"Are you alright?" the young paramedic asked a little helplessly. And John couldn't help but think 'Poor guy, obviously that's one of his first assignments and he starts with a death on location, nice start for a career.'

He shook his head.

"Fine, I just… need a minute." He said, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. He stumbled away, feeling curiously numb.

Without thinking about it really, he took out his mobile phone and dialled Sherlock's number.

"Got him, John!" he announced happily. "Lestrade takes… John? Where are you?" Of course Sherlock heard the sirens and the commotion in the background.

"In front of the coffee shop… Sherlock, please come… I need you!" the doctor choked, voice thick with unshed tears as he watched how Mary's body got covered with a dark blanket before they put her on a stretcher.

"It's alright John, I'm on my way… stay where you are! I'll be there in a minute." Somewhere in the background, John faintly made out Lestrade's voice who was calling for Sherlock.

True to his own words, it didn't take Sherlock long to arrive at the scene. And as if he was pulled by a magnetic force he went straight for John, ignoring everyone else.

"John." He said gently, kneeling next to his friend. "What happened?"

Sure, Sherlock had an idea, it wasn't difficult to read the signs of an accident but there had to be more to it to shake a man like John Watson like this.

"Sherlock… it's… it's Mary, she's dead." John whispered and somehow the news hit the detective like a fist.

"Dear god…" he breathed and pulled John in an embrace. "Oh John, I'm so sorry…"

The dam broke down when the warmth of Sherlock's comforting embrace registered in John's brain. He clung to his friend and sobbed helplessly.

"She died to save me… she was hit by this truck because she pushed me out of the way… and she won't come back Sherlock… she's not like you… she won't come back…"

The consulting detective didn't know what to say to that. There had been nothing that he could have said to make it better. And like that he stayed silent and held John close.

* * *

Sherlock had taken John with him to Baker Street that day. Diligently he tried his best and helped with all the things that needed to be done. And without ever talking about it, he made sure that Mary Morstan got the best and most beautiful funeral possible in a way of silent salute and thank you for saving John Watson.

Coping with this loss wasn't easy for John but with his best friend and other half Sherlock Holmes by his side, it was easier than the time before.

* * *

_Thank you so much for hanging in there with me until the end._

_I guess my rambling in the beginning showed that I'm just a tiny bit insecure about this piece of work and I really would appreciate it if you let me know your thoughts. I'm happy about every single review.  
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_On another note, thank you to all those readers who favourited my other stories, I understand that means that you enjoyed them and I'm kind of overwhelmed. Thank you!  
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